Laughter and playful screaming from the pool roused Joshua from his thoughts. He got up to look out of the window. Night had fallen. The poolside lights were switched on, and through the shrubbery surrounding the parking lot he saw the glow of taillights on Santa Monica Boulevard.
Sighing, he turned from the window. He opened the scrapbook and picked up a news-cutting of Genna Delucio, smoothing the creases with his finger and thumb. The photographer had captured an expression Joshua found enormously appealing.
Outside, a girl laughed hysterically. A young man’s voice rose above the others. “In the pool…the pool. Throw her in.” A high-pitched squeal, a mighty splash, raucous laughter. Rock music vibrated the windows.
Joshua slid the Beretta from under the bed and placed it on the table next to the clipping of Genna Delucio. Looked long and hard at them both. Should he go straight for the Jamaicans – or should he call the girl. The gun or the girl. His gaze flicked from one to the other. Gun or the girl; girl or the gun….
He turned away and interlaced his fingers on the top of his head. He was under no illusion over what he ought to do next. The cycle of assassinations was turning full circle again. He ought to arm himself, get his ass street side in Inglewood.
What he wanted was to see Genna Delucio again.
Laughter from outside rose and culminated with another loud splash and patter of water. “Don’t you dare, Jimmy,” a girl hollered, trying to sound serious. “Not in the water I’m wearing my mother’s Rolex.”
“Relax, Sally,” Jimmy laughed, and by the sound of his voice he fleeing.
Relax, Genna. Joshua thought for no particular reason. A crazy scenario leaped into his mind with such clarity that for a moment he forgot to breathe. He saw himself with Genna, sitting by the pool drinking and talking, laughing at the antics of the young holiday makers. The quest concluded. All the renegades dead. Leaving him free to live as he wished. No longer constrained by his connection to Barlow.
This decided him. He quickly locked away the Beretta and slid the case back under the bed. He grabbed his car keys.
The apartment block was silent as he rode up in the elevator. He was unsure of the address he had got from the phonebook, and even less sure of himself. The carriage bumped to a gentle halt at the fifth floor and when the doors parted, his feet wouldn’t move; only when the doors began to close did he slip through. Alone in the corridor, he crept along, reading the brass apartment numbers: 221….. 222. This was it.
He raised his hand to knock when fear pinned him to the spot. Even his breath caught in his throat. He knew she was in there; he could hear movement, he could smell her cologne, fancied he could almost taste her in the air.
Finally he got the muscles in his wrist to work and he knocked lightly on the blue door. His heart pounded in his chest, in his throat – even in his eyeballs. What was wrong with him? Lord, he was more afraid being here than he was when in the company of murderers.
A dog barked.
Light footsteps approached the door: “Who is it?”
He gulped. Licked his dry lips. Something inside urged him to flee; simply staying put required physical effort. “It’s…it’s Joshua,” he croaked.
“Who?”
He cleared his throat. “The erm, the guy you knocked down this afternoon.” Looking down, he saw that his knees were shaking, but quickly looked up when the door opened.
Genna’s curious eye peered at him over the security chain. Her hair was tied back in a pony-tail and she had a speck of green paint on the tip of her chin. “You shouldn’t have come here.” Her voice was edged with hysteria.
Joshua’s heart plummeted. “I thought you said…”
“I said call.” She looked nervously over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he started to turn away.
“Wait.....” Genna disengaged the security chain. After a quick glance into the corridor she pulled him roughly over the threshold and closed the door.
Joshua stood by while she re-engaged the chain.
She shrugged. “Err…thought I spotted a couple of Jehovah’s witnesses.”
He frowned at his watch. “At…nine-twenty in the evening?”
“This is Los Angeles.”
“Look,” he said. “I know it’s kind of late.”
“And a bit unexpected,” she admitted. “But…you’re here now.”
With her hair tied back off her face, she looked incredibly young and innocent, perhaps more so now after what he had witnessed.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Genna said, removing the apron. “I’ll be a minute.” She went out of the room, leaving Joshua alone for a moment. At the back of his mind, Barlow’s voice arose, commanding that he leave immediately and go stake out the Jamaicans. He turned away from the voice and instead concentrated on the apartment.
One wall displayed several works of art he presumed were Genna’s. Each piece was signed with a modest letter G. The largest painting, and in Joshua’s humble opinion the best, was of a sleeping girl, surrounded by wispy white horses. A single glossy tear rested on the girl’s pallid face. The work invoked an impression of sadness, yet was also somewhat enchanting.
When Genna re-entered the room her pony tail was gone; her hair hung loosely at her shoulders. The top few buttons on her blouse were now fastened, and the speck of green paint was gone from her chin. A few tiny droplets of water glistened on her skin.
Joshua indicated the painting. “I like your work.”
She looked past him at the watercolor, playing absently with her earlobe. A burst of body chemicals puffed from her like spores, tainting the air with a forlorn sensation.
“By the way,” said Genna, turning from the painting. “How are your legs?”
He thought of the beating by the gangsters. “My legs?” Then he remembered the accident. “Oh. They’re fine.”
“That was one lucky escape.”
“Yes. One of the reasons I’m here.”
“Been speaking to your lawyer?” she asked half-jokingly.
“I don’t have a lawyer,” he said. “I was concerned about you.”
“Me?”
“I wanted to be sure you were all right.”
Genna rolled her eyes. “You were on the business end of the collision.”
“Yeah – I was lucky.” He found he couldn’t hold her gaze, so he looked away.
“Doctor Harper called me earlier.” Genna said after a moment. “As a rule he’s not one to violate his Hippocratic Oath, but he did ask me whether I had your number.”
“He did?”
“Those peepers of yours must have pricked his curiosity; he was very excited.”
“My eyes…”
“Yeah; something about your pupils having a quick dilation response; so quick in fact you could probably see in the dark.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him you could barely see in broad daylight.”
Joshua laughed.
Ice broken, Genna laughed with him. “Can I offer you a drink? I don’t have any beer I’m afraid – red wine okay?”
“Never tried wine,” he followed her across the room and stood behind her. “What’s it like?”
“You’ve never tasted wine?” She said, playfully mocking him. She poured half a glass and handed it to him. “Try it.”
Remembering what Benjamin’s light beer did to him, he accepted the glass warily and took a sip. The rich, fruity flavor wakened his taste buds, brought juices to his mouth and exploded down his throat, settling in a warm, fiery pool in his belly. Instantly the alcohol penetrated his stomach wall and swam through his blood. This affected him more quickly than Benjamin’s light beer, and was tastier by far.
Genna watched him closely. “You like?”
Joshua gave a goofy grin. “It’s good.” The wine heightened his senses; he became aware of something else in the room, something he’d first noticed when crossing the threshold but had not pursued. An animal scent – perhaps a d
og. Of course – the dog he had heard barking.
Genna motioned for him to sit. “You said the accident was just one of the reasons you’re here. What’s the other?” She searched the cupboard for another glass.
Joshua blinked, heat rose in his cheeks, he hid his gaze in his wine glass. Then he opened his mouth to tell her that, in truth, he just wanted to look at her again, to listen to her voice, to be near her, to pretend they were alike, to imagine friendship – or perhaps even romance. Yes, try to fool her into believing he was normal, perhaps in the process fool himself for a while. But instead of saying anything he simply stared woodenly ahead, his mouth open.
As if this answered her question, Genna smiled and for a moment, looked as coy as Joshua. “I see.” She set the wine bottle down. “I need another glass. Back in two shakes.” She disappeared into the kitchen.
Joshua closed his eyes and cursed his ineptitude. Were he not so scared he would have found it funny. Nevertheless, he made himself comfortable in the easy chair, and set about enjoying the moment. Every second that ticked by broke new ground for him – he was wandering like a tourist through the strange and wonderful landscape of another world – the ordinary world of talking and drinking, shooting the breeze, passing the time, chewing the fat.
Genna’s voice drifted from the kitchen. Joshua opened his mouth to ask if she was ok when he realized the girl was not speaking to him.
“Benji, come here – Benji! Oh shit. Joshua!” she hollered. “Don’t move! Keep still!”
A large Doberman barged through the kitchen door into the room, swung its brutish head left to right, then homed in on him, fangs bared and hackles raised. Its huge paws slipped on the rug as it freight-trained toward him, jowls bouncing up and down.
Genna was two running steps behind, her voice full of fear. “Benji!” She clawed for his collar, almost snagged it, but the dog easily outpaced her, leaving her stumbling in its wake.
Joshua quickly put down his wine glass. Instead of holding still he dropped to his haunches. He felt the dog’s intention clearly in the air; Joshua was a trespasser, an interloper, a threat. The dog’s automatic reaction to danger held sway over the desire to obey Genna’s command. Instinct won out over awareness.
Before the Doberman reached him, Joshua established eye contact, held it, and released his own disarming signal, charging the air with a message only a dog would understand.
Abruptly, Benji stopped growling and cocked his head, as though hearing a doggy whistle. Unable to abort the attack altogether, he planted his paws in front of him and slid the last couple of feet on his haunches, like Scooby Doo shying from spooks. Joshua caught him and together they tumbled to the floor. Benji’s snarls turned into whimpers and whines. He nuzzled Joshua’s midriff.
Genna stopped halfway across the floor, head in hands, staring down in disbelief at Joshua and her dog. “What?” she said. “What’s this?” Then she planted hands on hips. “Benji. Out. Come on. Get in your bed, fuzzball.”
Benji refused to move. He chuffed softly. Joshua ruffled the dog’s ears and played with his whiskers. Rolled together in a ball they looked familiar as life-long buddies. Joshua’s shirt pulled out of his jeans, revealing his tanned, lean stomach.
“Hey!” Genna stamped one foot. “Mind what I say, fuzzball. Just remember who splits for the dog meat in this apartment.”
Benji chuffed again, reluctantly padded back through the door, pausing to look back at Joshua. Genna closed the door after him. After a beat, one hand still resting on the door handle, she gaped at Joshua.
Tucking his shirt back in and straightening his hair, Joshua said. “What?”
“Benji’s an academy-trained attack dog, only one of my neighbors can I handle him.” She narrowed her eyes. “Now, I’m sure glad he didn’t, but he should have grabbed your leg and run around my apartment.”
“Dogs are perceptive.” Joshua said. “He knows I’m not a threat.”
Genna threw her hands skyward. “I don’t know what to say. You walk away from a forty-mile an hour collision; now you tame my killer Doberman. I don’t know who you remind me of more, Doc Savage or Dr. Doolittle.” She observed Joshua’s empty glass. “You want a refill?”
Joshua wondered how she might react if she knew that several hours ago her father ordered him to be killed and thrown down a disused mine shaft. He thrust the thought away with a tiny shake of his head. But the memory wandered his mind like a stray dog that wouldn’t let him alone.
Genna topped up his glass.
Manny Winkler sat hunched at the large table in Salvatore Durant’s Study nursing a sore head and a shot of whiskey. On the table lay a glossy photo of the kid, together with the chunk of lead Winkler found in his hand after regaining consciousness near the mineshaft.
“What happened to the kid’s body?” Durant asked.
Winkler, his suit dusty and his nose scratched and flushed, knocked back the drink and wiped his mouth with a trembling hand. A purple bump protruded from his forehead. Clots of dried blood blocked both his nostrils and he spoke with an exaggerated nasal tone. “There’s no buh-body because the kid was stuh-still alive.”
Serefini inched closer to Winkler. “Bullshit,” he said. “I put a bullet in his fucking eyeball.”
“He was al-al-alive I’m tuh-tuh-telling you.” Winkler kept his one good eye on his whiskey. “I opened the tru-tru-trunk and he…he reached out for me …when I came around, the car had guh-gone and so had Carlos. I had to walk out of the fuh-foothills – look at my puh-puh-pants!”
Durant zeroed his gaze at Serefini. “Well?”
Serefini glared in turn at Winkler. “Point blank. I shot that kid point blank. And if by the grace of all the angels and saints he did survive a bullet in the brain he was in no condition to take out two guys. He was deader than Elvis.”
“He wuh-was alive,” whispered a cowering Winkler.
Serefini drew his weapon. “Think you can take one in the head, wiseass?”
Durant said: “Find a better frame of reference than Elvis – the jury’s still out on that one. And I don’t want to compromise my safety with maybes.”
Serefini holstered his gun and slapped Winkler across the top of the head. “If it wasn’t for this stuttering fool…” he said.
“Right now,” Durant said. “I’m not interested in blame.” He waved a finger at Joshua’s photograph. “I want this cowboy six feet under before he takes it upon himself to call on my daughter again. Make no mistake - I want a signed death certificate.”
Serefini straightened, twisted his neck, making the tendons crackle. “I’ll take care of him myself. I’ll bring back his liver-” He stared down at Winkler whilst saying this, and Winkler, head lowered and browbeaten, slumped over his empty glass.
“He’s not your boy anymore.” Durant tapped Joshua’s photo. “At the next drop, give this to the assassin – an addition to the contract. There’s an address on the Motel receipt you found on the kid.”
“I can whack this guy.” Serefini shouted. “I don’t leave a job half finished.” His ponytail started to slip out; veins bulged on his neck.
“You have a problem with my orders?” Durant looked every bit as menacing as the horror actor he resembled.
Serefini clenched his teeth. “I got no problem,” he said.
Durant nodded. “Then do as I say.”
Genna emerged from her bedroom delving inside her purse. Her head bent studiously over her hands, she counted out seventy dollars – all the folding currency in there. She offered it to Joshua.
Joshua took the wine glass from his lips, frowning at her outstretched hand.
“For the damage to your Levi’s. I know it’s not much of a gesture, but…” She smiled a deliberately lame smile.
“I don’t...I can’t,” Joshua said, for some reason alarmed. “The accident wasn’t your fault.”
“I was speeding. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” She pushed the bundle into his hand and closed his fingers
around the notes.
Joshua blinked at the money, looked up at Genna. He placed the notes on the end-table by his chair. “Making a new friend is enough,” he said, surprising himself with his candor. The declaration left him feeling outside of himself, as though he had just doggy paddled into a quiet pool and then realized he had drifted out of his depth.
Genna pondered on his words, but her expression remained inscrutable. Finally she smiled at him. “You are so…odd.”
At that moment Joshua heard footsteps out in the corridor. He cocked his head, listening, slowly turning toward the door. In the kitchen, at precisely the same moment, Benji started to growl.
Genna glanced from Joshua to the kitchen. “You and my pooch know something I don’t?”
“Someone’s here.” Joshua said.
“I don’t hear anything.”
Someone rapped heavily on the door.
Genna looked at Joshua, her finger pressed to her lip. “Say nothing.”
The bang on the door came again. “Open up, Miss Durant.”
Genna stood, considered a moment, and then went to the kitchen to release her dog. The Doberman raced past her, barking furiously, sniffing at the foot of the door, scratching at the jamb.
Genna followed him and, leaving the security chain in place, opened the door a crack. Benji jammed his snarling snout against the gap.
Joshua cocked his head and listened.
“What the hell do you want?” he heard Genna whisper.
“Someone murdered one of your father’s men, tonight.” The caller said after a dramatic pause.
“I asked you what you wanted,” she said.
Joshua believed this news affected Genna more than she let on. Her manner spread to the dog, which was coiled like a spring at her feet, nose pushed at the four inch gap, growling deeply.
A second voice spoke up. “We believe this guy’s involved...” something was removed from an envelope. “…you er…know him?”
Joshua peered over his shoulder and saw Genna standing at the crack in the door, her head angled at something held up in front of her. She watched in silence for longer than he cared.
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